Man, they need to shut the fuck up about HD radio. Sheesh. Every five seconds there’s an ad for HD radio and how good it will sound and blah blah.

Man, the problem with radio is not the sound quality. It’s the ASSLOAD of annoying commercials and the lack of variety, problems which are, if I am not mistaken, both addressed by sattelite radio. So if I am going to spend money to buy an upgraded radio, which I’m not, why would I spent it on better clarity for your 45 minutes of commercials per hour?

I guess they think that because people will pay for HDtv they’ll also pay for HD radio. The only problem with this theory is that people are already sold on better quality visual media by the film industry via theatres and DVDs with surround sound and 16:9 widescreen and so forth. There is no such precedent set for audio.

I just listened to a demo of HD radio on my computer, and I can’t really tell the difference that much between it and FM.

How about instead I buy a radio that interfaces directly with and has the ability to control my ipod, and then I can listen to a shuffle of all the songs I like, or make my own playlists without a single advertisement?

Two things:
1. There have been a lot of weird moments in my life.
2. Once, I took a picture of my penis.

Now, I want you to imagine a person who has basically zero direction in life. He makes a great living working in computers, but every day he feels his soul get a little bit smaller because he hasn’t mustered the gumption yet to live without a net and make art for a living. This negative frustration poisons him.

It’s fall. It’s his favorite time of year, and he’s driven like a bat out of hell for almost an hour to catch the tail end of a car race in the crisp air. He is with a classical pianist with slicked-back hair and Prada shoes. They park and hustle through the parking lot, catching fleeting glimpses through buildings and sparse trees of cars shooting past at impossible speed. The roar of the cars even in the parking lot is exciting and immense.

They make their way inside the gate, and sit down at the nearest fence and watch the cars roar around the right-hand turn into the final straight. The pianist wanders off. Our man sits down in the grass. The dew has fallen, and the grass is wet, but our man is wearing a trenchcoat. He pulls out his digital camera to take a photo of the cars. It’s his first digital camera.

Working for a living may suck, but being able to afford neat toys is okay.

So, he experiments with the night setting on the camera and takes a few shots of the cars. Then he flips the camera over to view mode to see how the shots turned out. In doing so, he is greeted unceremoniously with a photo of his own pink dick at a car race.

He deletes the picture, lies back in the slightly-wet grass with the searching fingers of the racecar’s headlights lashing across him as they turn, and knows he must do something… anything different.

While I was playing tonight someone threw a balled-up ten dollar bill at my head. I dodged it, thanks to my ninjalike reflexes, but still. A balled-up ten bucks.

I’m not sure what else to say about it.

Earlier today I helped lift a piano, and now I know for absolute certain that pianos are fucking heavy. This was a full-sized grand piano and it was not fucking around one bit. It was completely certain that it wanted to be as heavy as possible, and it accomplished this goal with aplomb. It did sound great though. I love pianos.

I was standing there holding it up in the air with a friend, looking at the veins pop out on my arm and trying to think of something other than the growing burning sensation in my muscles. A nearby girl who was lounging on a couch and chatting into a phone said “Do you guys want me to help?”.

Then a giant sea monster crashed through the roof and ate me, and I met a beautiful mermaid in his belly, and we fought our way out together, becoming heros of America and the entire world, and then I was finally able to set that fucking piano down and stop daydreaming about silly shit to keep my mind off the strain of holding it.

That’s how heavy grand pianos are.

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